


In the Business

by plasma_in_ink



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Business Rivals, Lovers, M/M, Rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasma_in_ink/pseuds/plasma_in_ink
Summary: "Hey, baby, what's the haps?"
Relationships: James Garret /Tommy Torini
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	In the Business

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Tommy, coming in here like you belong here.” James Garret crossed his arms and glared at the one-eyed Chairman. James’s sister, Francine, watched them both, cleaning the glasses of her bar with brisk, almost meaningful wipes.

“Hey, baby,” Tommy Torini said – in his sleek and spiffy (and clean) suit, he looked several shades out of place in the Freeside casino, bar, and brothel – “Don’t you be all bitter on me, now. I have a business deal with your boy there,” he gestured to Hadrian the ghoul, who looked paler than he probably had looked when he’d still been human and puking his guts out from radiation. No jokes from him now – he at least knew how to read a crowd and keep his mouth shut. “I seem to recall,” Tommy drawled, “That you let him out of his contract. We’ve got us a contract between us now, him and I – so, baby, what’s this I hear about you holding him back?”

“We can’t just let him leave before he does this show. Last one on the contract – don’t care what he has with you, Tommy, but you can’t have him yet.” James bared his teeth, “You Families can’t have everything of ours, fucking House-rats…”

Tommy Torini understood the attitude, and didn’t let it phase him. He got it, you know? The Boot Riders – now Chairmen – going from nomadic tribe to princes of the Strip? The Freesiders getting pushed out of their homes? He could live high off the bighorner and still admit that it was kind of a shitty thing to go and do. “I seem to recall that he’s _out_ of his contract. My agent went and bought him out, fast as could be, and the written contract was nulled - which means that he don’t have to do _squat_ for you. But he _does_ have to do his opening act for me. Is that clear? Are we clear?”

“No, we aren’t?”

“Really, Mr. Garret? ‘Cause I think we’re _crystal._ You’ve got no claim to him and no right to hold him here like you are, and if I’ve got to get those big old robots involved… well, baby, we’re both going to regret it, but if that’s how you want to throw down…”

“James…” Francine said, her glare now fully on her brother.

“Ugh…” James Garret scowled as if he’d eaten a lemon – one of those newfangled imports from the NCR’s growing labs. Good inventions, those – “Fine. Meet me in my quarters, and…”

_“James…”_

“… we’ll talk about how to work this out. Without the robots.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at the twin’s exchange – Garret ignoring his sister’s dagger-sharp glare was always fun to see. “All right, all right,” he said, standing up smooth as a cat, “glad we’re doing things this way, I like it nice and easy and on the level. Professional-like.”

He followed Garret as the man walked out from behind the bar and led him to the upper rooms where he and his sister lived. Fine fellows, the Garrets – they’d been a part of Vegas and, later, Freeside life for some time. Tommy had always respected them, in good part because, House or no, you still had to do business with them and the poor folk they were a part of… and search for talent in the mire.

The door closed behind them, and Garret motioned towards the couch.

“Not the bedroom, baby?” Tommy quipped.

“I share that with my sister…” James glowered at Tommy, aggressively putting a bottle of scotch on the table and two glasses that had seen better days. _The old days,_ Tommy thought wistfully as he poured them both a finger of it.

“You know,” he said, his eye glittering, “there’s better ways to get me to come see you. Ways that won’t have good ol’ Francie –“ Tommy repressed a chuckle at James’ evident wince. Francine was not a woman you wanted to nickname, kin or no “- kicking your ass… Like sending a message. Or paying me a visit with that passport I gave you – trust me,” Tommy tapped the ragged edges of the pre-war couch in time with the dulcet tones of some old world blues, “we have better couches at the Tops… better beds, too. You didn’t have to do no song and dance for me,” he smirked, “Unless you’re thinking of hitting the stage yourself.”

“I’m not using that passport and you know why.”

“No, I honestly don’t,” said Tommy, leaning forward as James Garret paced before him. He’d been the same kind of storm in a teakettle back then, back in the days before House’s Vegas (or, Tommy supposed, after House’s Vegas and before _their_ New Vegas.) Those days, they’d been at each other’s throats, dueling, even, over stupid things like street corners and maize. James had taken his eye. Then his heart. He’d always been like this - a lot of energy with nowhere to go. “What’s bugging you, baby? What’s got you so riled that you’d fuck with some poor comedic sap to get me out in the old piss-stained streets?”

James paced a few more times before turning to Tommy, face contorted in a complex emotion. “Because I never fucking see you anymore, that’s why!” he blurted out.

“Well, if you don’t use the passport and your legs…”

“… And then,” James interrupted, gesturing angrily, “I hear that you’re poaching my fucking shows! What the hell, Tommy?” he balled his hands into fists, “I thought we were tight. I thought you said that this whole Chairman thing – that Benny - changed nothing between us!”

“It didn’t, baby,” Tommy said calmly, drinking his finger of scotch happily – shitty stuff, but hey, who could blame a Freesider for getting drunk on something just shy of vinegar? “Nothing’s changed – the show stuff? That’s all business. Business is business. Friendship is friendship. Pleasure is pleasure, baby – nothing is going to change that. And mark you,” he said, pointing at Garret to still his opened mouth, “we’re in the same business,, we’re going to cross paths at some point. Trade acts back and forth, even - It’s pretty inevitable. You just have to accept it. Move on, kitten, move on –“ Tommy shrugged, “rage doesn’t suit either of us so well, these days.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well?” Tommy leaned back against the couch, comfortable as an old tomcat, “Are you?”

Garret stared at him for a long moment. “I don’t know…” he said, sitting down next to Tommy on the couch, closing his eyes and rubbing his face.

“Come on, man.” Tommy shook his head, pityingly, “If you weren’t trying to call me out for a taste of not-so-little Tommy,” he winked – really a blink, but it was a charming gesture, he knew, none the less – “and you aren’t sure now, then again, why’re you putting that poor ghoul on the knife’s edge? Why’d you send me back here, baby? What’s going on? You can talk to me,” Tommy Torini slid next to Garret, wrapping an easy arm around his unresisting shoulders, “Always have, always will.”

“There’s all this shit with the NCR, and…” James shook his head, “Shit, that isn’t even it.” He turned to Tommy, frustration written so clear on his face that Tommy couldn’t have done better with old world permanent marker. “I’m still into you, okay? I’ve missed you so fucking bad – and then you started poaching my acts and it just… I missed you more, was mad, and…” He bit his lip, as if he didn’t want to say the next few words, “Then I fucking saw you and it kinda hit me and… I don’t know if I’m… _attracted to men anymore, Tommy._ ”

“Did you swap sides a bit, man?” Tommy watched, perplexed, as the man choked out the last few words. “Happens a lot, you know, when you’re into both,” he said reassuringly, “And don’t I know it,” he whistled, “Why, in the last year alone, I’ve gone from liking good medium-sized tits to a nice firm man-ass, and I’ll tell you what, it’s…”

“… _That’s not it._ ” James interrupted, head in hands.

“All right, I’ll bite,” said Tommy, growing more and more concerned – here, indeed, was James Garret. Shameless businessman, brothel owner, ruthless shark of Freeside. _Feeling goddamn shame._ “What are you into?”

James was silent, and something in Tommy’s memory clicked.

“Oh shit,” he said, closing his eye and shaking his head, slowly, from side to side, “It isn’t the goddamn robots again, is it?” He felt James nod. “Goddamn it, James, we talked about this,” he shrugged, exasperated, “This is fucking Vegas – you can be into whatever the fuck you want. Ghouls? Super mutants? Robots? It’s all ring-a-ding around these parts, baby. No one cares, and someone _will sell it to you_.”

“I’m a fucking degenerate.” James muttered.

“… Then you’re a degenerate in some good fucking company, cause what do you think the big man in his tower did for two-hundred years? He’s a man, he’s got his needs, you think he just beat himself off every time? For fuck’s sake, James,” Torini ranted, “the man never leaves his tower and no one ever goes in. If he’s as old as they say – and as much a technology person as he seems to be, you think he _isn’t_ fucking a securitron here and there? Get over yourself, man,” he concluded, “Don’t be so down. We’ve all got vices and quirks, you ain’t special _or_ rotten for it.”

“There’s… lines you just don’t cross…” Garret said haltingly.

“Sure, sure,” Tommy nodded, “But I’m telling you, again, that robots aren’t one of ‘em…” Just look over at New Reno – or, if you felt like getting edgy as machetes, across the Colorado. Those were some real fucking degenerates. But who cared about backstabbing rabble or armored-up assholes? Tommy pulled James towards him and his lap. “Now… was that all you dragged me over to this shithole for, or were you looking for some sugar to go with your sour mood?”

James did not resist as he was pulled onto Tommy’s lap. “Watch what you say, asshole,” he said warmly, bringing his face close, “Or I’ll take your other goddamn eye.”

“Maybe I’ll take yours instead, baby – make us a matching pair. Would you be more attracted to me then, or now, hmm?”

“No idea,” Garret’s face was very close, now – Tommy could feel the old spark flare to life between them. “But I’m game.” His hesitation was only a moment before he pushed them together in a kiss just as fierce as Tommy remembered from the old days, when the stakes in the Mojave game had been pennies.

_And now they were the stars._

“Clearly,” Tommy said as James pulled away and began to undo his pants, “Is this the business or pleasure portion of the deal? I never can tell with you, baby.”

“Make me miss you more than before,” James said coyly, “And you can have the ghoul.”

Technically, he had the ghoul already, but Tommy wasn’t going to say no to a little game – especially not if he was trying to hold a candle to the hard coldness of big, strong, metal robots. _Hell, maybe I’m into them a little too._ “Sure thing, baby, sure thing.”

 _If there’s anything that you can say about these Freeside folks,_ he said, not missing the relief mixed in with lust on his old friend’s face, _They know how to swing._

Like their life depended on it.

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth of my attempts to create a few rarepair fics for Fallout New Vegas. My goal was to play with unusual pairings with the courier playing as little a role as possible.
> 
> For Tommy/James, it was important to remember that New Vegas as a city in its current House-ruled form is only 7 years old. Back in the day, James and Francine were just a part of the Vegas ruins ecosystem and Tommy was a tribal. What a different time it was, right? Plus, Tommy is missing an eye - There's got to be a story there! Now, there's a big wall between them, and the haves and have not were plucked semi-randomly from the rabble - but they are close. So close.
> 
> Ooooh, now I wonder what Francine used to get up to? Pre-House (well, technically pre House-takeover) New Vegas is so ripe for exploration... anyway, the Courier is implied to be doing the talent pool quest, but otherwise is unimportant - as is Benny's fate. He may be alive, he may be dead, he may be sweating bullets every time Mr. New Vegas reports on a certain very dedicated mailman. Who knows? Who cares? Tommy sure doesn't, he's got a theatre to run.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading... and keep an eye out for more rarepair works in the future!


End file.
